


Sauce for the Gander

by Longpig



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), Untitled Goose Game (Video Game)
Genre: Crossover, Explicit Language, Feral Hogs, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21834460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Longpig/pseuds/Longpig
Summary: It's a lovely day in Wallachia, and you are a horrible goose.
Relationships: Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya & Trevor Belmont & Sypha Belnades
Comments: 19
Kudos: 79
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nohrg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nohrg/gifts).



It’s a lovely morning in the village.

Hats have been soundly pilfered, keys wonderfully hidden, gardens dismantled to excellence. The market is in disarray. The rake is in the lake. Everything is as it should be. Yet there is always more to do as well. Some other delightful fulfillment is always in motion, like the constant steady churning of webbed feet below the water’s still surface. New horizons open; new targets appear. A man, dirty and unshaven but well armed. A woman in blue, dressed in the robes of a Speaker. As they cross the bridge into the village, they make themselves ready for ruckus. In the precision of its mind’s eye, the creature unfurls a new and ideal agenda.


	2. Sauce for the Gander

> _"What is a man? A miserable little pile of honks!"_

“I’m telling you, this is a waste of time,” Trevor groaned, dragging his feet as he followed Sypha over the stone bridge. “He probably just went for a walk or to, I don’t know, _brood_ somewhere _._ ” 

“It’s barely noon; too early for brooding,” she retorted sharply. “And where would he go without his coat? Without his sword?” Trevor didn’t have a good answer for that, so he restrained himself to unintelligible, resigned grumbling. To worry about Alucard leaving his coat behind was ridiculous considering that he never got cold, but he had to admit it was a little odd for him to run off somewhere without his sword. And it wasn’t as though he didn’t know they were coming; Sypha had sent off her little magic message before they’d started the trip back. Still, mounting a full on search seemed excessive.

“We could have at least waited a bit,” he muttered, “like until after lunch.” He kicked a pebble off the side of the bridge, and paused momentarily to watch the ripples spread across the surface of the mill pond. A goose stared up at him from the water, its button black eyes blank and strangely unsettling.

“This won’t take long; stop complaining.” She waved her hand in a breezy, dismissive gesture. “I just need a few components for a divination spell. Including”—she grinned impishly as she followed his gaze to the bird floating on the pond—”a feather from a white goose. You should be able to handle that for me, surely?”

Trevor groaned inwardly. “Do I look like some kind of… wildlife wrangler?” 

“I believe the word is ‘gamekeeper,’” she answered brightly, with a little shrug. “I’ll meet you back here when I’ve gotten everything else.”

“...Fine.” Trevor glared at the goose as Sypha swanned off into the village. “It’s you and me, bird.” It honked as if in response. He frowned, then glanced down the path at Sypha’s retreating back. “But first, lunch.” After all, how hard could it be to catch a stupid goose? It wasn’t even a wild one.

The tavern was easy to find—it looked just like every other tavern in every shitty village he’d been to in Wallachia. He dropped onto a seat at the bar, and ordered a pint and a ploughman’s. The beer was watery and the cheese was hard, but there was that whole thing about beggars and choosers… The bread, at least, was fresh. He sandwiched the cheese between two slices slathered with pickle, his mouth watering as he lifted it to take a bite.

“Hey buddy.” Trevor looked up to see the barman, florid and frowning, looming over him. “Can’t you read? You can’t have that thing in here.” He gestured one sausage-like finger at a sign propped up on the counter: a crudely drawn… chicken? or duck? inside a red circle with a line drawn through it. The innkeeper tapped the sign for emphasis, then pointed past Trevor, toward the floor. A goose—was it the same one?—stood next to his stool, just out of arm’s reach.

“What the hell?” Trevor turned back around. “It’s not mine. It must have just followed me in when the door was open.” The barkeep crossed his arms and scowled.

“Well, it’s got your whip.”

“It’s—what?!” Trevor spun off his stool, catching himself just in time to see the bird waddling off with his whip—still coiled—grasped in its beak. It made its escape as another unsuspecting patron walked in, a loud sharp honk startling the customer out of its way. “Son of a bitch.” He blinked after it, half in awe, half disbelief. He slapped a few coins on the counter—all else aside he didn’t need to be banned from the nearest pub to the castle—and dashed after the animal, sandwich in hand.

The goose was now across the narrow, cobbled street, standing in a shaded alleyway. _This’ll be easy,_ he thought. Grab the weapon out of the mangy thing’s beak, yank a feather from its arse; done. He stuffed the sandwich in his mouth to free his hands as he carefully approached the bird. It stared, motionless, as he kept slowly closer, ignoring the odd looks from passers-by. Soon he was almost near enough to reach out and grab its scrawny neck… Just one more step, maybe two… He bent down, and inched one hand closer to the coiled whip...

Powerful wings buffeted his face, stunning him and knocking him to the ground before he could fully process what was happening. A raucous honking rang in his ears as the enraged goose stomped and flapped over his prone body, and fled back toward the other side of the road. 

“Jesus Christ,” he growled around his mouthful of bread—it was in fact a miracle that he hadn’t dropped his lunch, so Trevor counted it as more of a prayer than a curse. He sat up, dusting himself off, and looked around to get eyes on his quarry. The bird was standing in front of a chandler’s window—also adorned with a sign banning its ilk—and was to all appearances calm once again. It dipped its head low to the ground briefly, and honked once. “Alright, new plan.” As he took a bite out of his sandwich, an idea began to take shape. Geese were basically ducks. And ducks liked bread, didn’t they? As hungry and annoyed as he was, it seemed like the easiest solution to his problem: lure the thing with food, and then take what he needed. He gave his lunch one last mournful look before committing. 

“Hey. Hey goose,” Trevor called out, hoping he looked less stupid than he felt. “You want some bread? A nice sandwich? Got a nice little goosey snack here for you…” He stepped closer, holding it out in front of him as an offering. The goose honked, and cocked its head to the side; as though considering the overture. “Yeah, that’s it, nice goose…” The bread was almost touching its beak. In one quick motion, the goose dropped the Morningstar and snatched the bread from his hand, then waddled a few paces away, its webbed feet slapping on the cobblestones. 

“Thank God,” he muttered as he stooped to collect his property. But just as his fingers brushed the handle, a deafening honk assaulted his eardrum. Caught off guard, he found himself on his ass yet again as the devil-bird made off with the whip. To add insult to injury, his uneaten sandwich had been carelessly discarded in a filthy puddle. Trevor didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so he settled on swearing. “Fucking Christ. Fine. No more Mister Nice Belmont. I’m not going to be beaten by a walking goddamn roast dinner.” Gritting his teeth, he set after his antagonist. 

It wasn’t difficult to track. All he had to do was follow the sounds of surprised yelps from villagers, and if that failed, listen for the damn honking. The pursuit led him to a street filled with a mess of market stalls, most of which appeared to be closing up. It must have been a busy morning, Trevor judged by the bits of produce strewn around the street. _Big run on cabbages, I guess._ There was something else, though… A number of the vendors here, too, had put up signs like the ones he’d seen in the tavern and shop window. “What is going _on_ in this godbefucked village?” Behind a half-empty crate of leeks, a sullen woman clutched a bushel of carrots, glared at him, and did not answer.

At the end of the market street, he spied his quarry inside a pigpen, defying the prominently displayed anti-waterfowl signage. The hogs’ owner was nowhere to be seen. “Alright you feathered little fuck,” he grumbled. The goose looked up at him, walked further into the makeshift enclosure, and dropped the whip straight into a steaming pile of manure before waddling out the other side. The anguished noise that Trevor made startled the hogs, but they soon went back to nosing around in the dirt. He could feel the blood rushing to his face, the veins throbbing in his neck. “Un-fucking-believable.” _All this for a fucking feather?_ _If I was smart I would have just found a goddamn pillow._ Now, though… Now it was personal. But first things first—the Morningstar. He dropped to the ground and reached through the slats in the fence, his arm stretched out as far as he could manage, and his face pressed tightly against the wooden barrier. His fingers were so close he could almost, _almost_ brush them against the corded leather of the grip… and then a pig bit them.

“Mother _fucker!!_ ” He yanked his hand back through the fence, earning a few splinters to go with his bruised knuckles. “Fine. This is fine. _Fine._ ” He got back to his feet and swung one leg up over the fence. He’d have to get his boots a bit dirty, but then he’d make that fucking bird pay. He shifted his weight to move his other leg over. 

_Honk._

“Jesus Christ!” Startled, Trevor jumped half off the fence, flailing wildly as balance failed him. The world flipped upside down, then turned an unpleasant shade of brown as he landed face first in a pungent mixture of mud and pig shit. As he pushed himself up, filth dripping from his hair, he saw the goose standing outside the pen, watching with what he assumed was malignant glee. “You _shit._ You _fuck!_ ” he seethed, snatching his whip from the ground. That, at least, was his again. He drew himself up out of the muck, bracing against the half-collapsed fencing, and let the whip uncoil. He fixed the bird with a hateful eye as it leisurely strolled around the pen. “Now you’re going to get it.” 

The goose lowered its head. It spread its wings. It honked. _Loudly._ It became a blur of beating white feathers and raucous noise; something which, it turned out, pigs did not care for at all. They raised their snouts from the dirt, whale eyed and squealing, and ran away from the source of their distress, straight at Trevor. His face pale and fell as several hundred pounds of pork bore down on him.

“Oh no.” 

He whirled around before he could be trampled, and scrambled over what was left of the fencing. The sounds of splintering wood were close behind, as the spooked animals crashed through the barrier. Trevor knew when to exercise the better part of valor. He broke into a run, hauling ass to put as much distance as possible between himself and the feral hogs, regardless of any obstacles in his path. Swearing and grunting, he shoved carts and merchants out of his way as he went, with the pigs close behind to compound the chaos. The market street rang out with curses, squealing, and shouts of anger and dismay from the merchants.

_“My pigs!”_

_“My flowers!”_

_“My vegetables!”_

“My _GOD_ what do I have to do to catch a break around here?” Trevor moaned as he ducked into an alley. As if in answer to his prayer, the pigs and the irate mob of villagers thundered past the alcove without noticing him. He waited for a minute, holding his breath, but they didn’t come back. He exhaled slowly, sagging back against a wall, and wiped some of the sweat and grime from his forehead. A mangled flower fell out of his hair. The goose was nowhere to be seen.

Sypha wasn’t going to be happy, he reflected; but maybe she should have gotten her own damn feather. Trevor was _done._ Hungry, tired, bruised and filthy, he trudged back towards the bridge. He found her sitting at the edge of the pond, munching on a crusty roll.

She wasn’t alone. Trevor watched in horror as the goose bowed its head and flapped its wings at her. His alarm rose when, instead of trying to defend herself or chase the goose away, Sypha seemed _delighted_ by its actions. Trevor stood paralyzed with dismay as sShe clapped her hands together merrily, then fished around in her satchel until she found a bit of ribbon, and tied it in a bow around its horrid hose neck. That was it.

“Sypha!” he bellowed, coming to his senses. He charged towards her, his hand on the pommel of his sword. “Get away from that fucking thing!”

She looked up, wide eyed and open mouthed. The goose honked and flapped its way over to the water’s edge. “Trevor? What are you doing?” she sputtered as he pushed past her towards it. “For heaven’s sake, it’s only a goose!”

“It is _not_ !” he yelled over his shoulder as he waded knee deep in the water after it. “It’s a devil! It might be _the_ devil!” He made a desperate grab for it, earning himself a nipped finger. “Fuck!” He lunged again, and this time managed to wrap a hand around its neck. The goose honked and thrashed wildly, but couldn’t twist free. 

“Don’t hurt it!” Sypha wailed from the shoreline.

“It’s the bane of my goddamned existence, Sypha!” he growled. He envisioned a delicious goose dinner back at the castle. The annoyance the animal had caused him would make it the tastiest meal of his life. _Christ, this might be the only creature in the world as irritating as Alucard._

Alucard. 

Trevor’s face went slack. “Oh my God,” he muttered. It made sense. The damn thing had been pestering him all day, trying to get his attention, trying to piss him off, trying anything to keep Trevor engaged… And wasn’t his usual animal form white, too? “Oh my _God._ ” The goose took advantage of his distraction to slap him in the face with a powerful wing strike, leaving a red welt along his cheek and loosening his grip. It flapped off into the center of the pond out of reach. “Fuck. Shit.” Trevor waded after it, a rising panic replacing his anger. “Sypha,” he yelled, “it’s him! I—I don’t know how to explain it, but that fucking goose is Alucard!” The water was chest deep now. Trevor was not much of a swimmer, but he did his best to splash and paddle his way closer. 

“You can’t be serious!” exclaimed Sypha. She paused, putting a finger to her chin. “I suppose it _is_ possible… He could have accidentally set off some spell in one of the books, or… Oh Trevor, you have to catch him!”

“I’m fucking trying!” Despite his best efforts, the goose floated just out of reach. It honked disdainfully. “Come on Alucard, buddy, pal… I promise I wasn’t _really_ going to eat you…” He made another futile, floundering grab, but something on the pond’s mucky bottom snagged his boot, and sent him falling forward with a mighty splash. As he flailed his way back to standing, and tried to shake the water out of his ears, he began to wonder if maybe Alucard _wanted_ to stay a goose.

“What the devil are you doing, Belmont?”

Trevor froze. That smooth voice. That disdainful cadence. It couldn’t be.

“Alucard!” Sypha called brightly from the shore. Trevor looked up with a defeated groan. There he was, silhouetted on the bridge, looking down at him with that insufferable smirk.

“The hell, man!” Trevor drew himself up to his full height, so that now he was only chest-deep in the water. “We looked all over the damn castle for you!”

“I was in the bath,” he answered breezily, tossing his hair over his shoulder. “You might try it sometime. Though I’d recommend soap and hot water over a stagnant millpond.” 

The goose honked. Trevor looked from Alucard to the bird, then back to Alucard, speechless with impotent rage.

He couldn’t decide which one he wanted to kill and eat more.


	3. Epilogue

The filthy, sodden man and the generous woman walk with their companion over the bridge. The two men are arguing, and the creature is heart-proud of its work. They follow the old road, toward the many-spired castle.

It has never been to a castle.

It swims to the water’s edge and finds the sure ground again. New horizons unfold before it, untold vistas of mischiefs yet to be.

It’s a lovely morning in the village.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


End file.
